The Sound of Silence Screaming in my Ear
by khohen1
Summary: 1st in series: Banky's thoughts the night of Holden's epiphany PLEASE R/R?!


Disclaimer: I always thought this was a little inane, cause of course I'm not Kevin Smith. . . If I were, this would be a movie you'd be watching, not a story you'd be reading. . . But alas, I shall. Characters property of whoever owns them, but most of all the ever-brilliant Kevin Smith, King of Dialogue. I hope I did him justice!  
  
The Sound of Silence Screaming In My Ear  
  
***Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again, Because a vision softly creeping, Left its seeds while I was sleeping, And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence. ***  
  
I felt the smack, the finality of it, the sting of it, as if it had been delivered to me. Then she'd directed her venomous glare at me, and I couldn't tear my eyes away in time to miss the daggers headed my way.  
  
"He's yours again."  
  
And just like that the bitch was gone. I should have felt relief. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? I'd wanted her gone. I'd wanted Holden back. I'd wanted her out of our lives for good. Mostly, though, I'd wanted things to go back to the way they were. That wasn't possible anymore cause Holden changed it all. Holden fucked it all up, he'd torpedoed that option right the fuck out of the water. He'd put it out there like it was nothing, looking at me like he pitied me. Poor simple Banky. Poor misguided fool, in love with his best friend.  
  
Fuck you, Holden McNeil. Fuck your pity, fuck your arrogance, and fuck your epiphany. Fuck your psychoses, fuck your hang-ups, and fuck your insecurity. Most of all, fuck you for doing it in front of her. In front of that fucking dyke, that hate-spewing man loathing dyke of a whore that somehow fucked up your brain so much so that you thought I loved you.  
  
I still don't know how I feel about him kissing me, and that fact alone scares the shit out of me. When he kissed me I felt something stir in me that I couldn't quite place. I couldn't decide whether it made me want to puke, made me want to punch him, or made me want to pull him closer. Pull him closer and, come wind, hail, or dyke, never let him go.  
  
He's still standing there. Still shocked. Still watching the door, as if any moment the bitch is going to come back in, flash him a quick smile. She's going to walk in, say "Gotcha. Of course I'll play grab ass with you and Banky, I was just yanking your chain," and walk up to him and kiss him. All is forgiven.  
  
Now who's the simple, misguided fool?  
  
***In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone, 'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence.***  
  
I get up, and I can't even look at him. I want to. I want to go to him, I want to smile at him, hug him. I want to say everything is all right, that fuck her, he was better off without her. But I can't, cause I'm angry. I don't know if I'm angry with him, or angry with her, or maybe even angry with myself. All I know, the once simple fact is, I'm angry. Really fucking angry. So instead of turning to him, instead of doing the friend thing, the thing we've done for the past 20 years, I turn my back on him and walk into my room.  
  
Cause isn't that what he just fucking did?  
  
Turned his back on me. Used me, exploited what he thought my feelings for him were in order to save his and Alyssa's relationship. Ignored my feelings, ignored what I might be going through, instead concentrating on her, on himself. Disregarded me and concentrated on his shit. On his feelings, on his inadequacies. His inability to deal with the past as the past. His inability to do anything on a small scale, always craving drama and fucking excitement. Everything being big and blown out of proportion instead of small and real.  
  
Then again, who am I to talk? Hadn't I been the one for the past month screaming at the top of his lungs about what a bitch-slut-dyke she was? Hadn't I taken the below the belt approach instead of facing him man to man, best friend to best friend, and telling him the truth? Though now I'm not even sure what the truth is. I'm beginning to think what I thought was the truth isn't the truth at all anymore. Was I watching his back? Was I afraid of losing my best friend? Was I worried about the comic? Did I really think she was fucking with his head?  
  
Or was I in love with him? Was I? Am I?  
  
I'd never thought about it, not really. Sure, you have those fleeting moments when you're fucking some chick you met at a bar when his head pops in yours, just smiling at you. Sometimes even when you're alone, in your room, making a withdrawal from the spank bank, and you see his face floating just before yours. Sure, I've had those. But doesn't everyone? Isn't it natural for things like that to flit every once in a while through your mind when you see this same person day in and day out for the past 20 fucking years of your life?  
  
***And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share And no one dare Disturb the sound of silence.***  
  
Did you ever have one of those moments when you find out that everything you thought was so secure, where you thought there was no room to have doubt, is completely fucking thrown into upheaval? Where you think to yourself, wow, I really don't know shit, do I?  
  
Cause I don't right now. I don't know diddily squat about jack fucking shit right now. Up from down, left from right, light from dark. Real from imagined. The stir I felt earlier, from that kiss, that all too quick, all too brash, all too unexpected kiss, was that real? Was that arousal? Was that nausea? Was it fear? Was it shock? Was it just what I thought I should feel? What the fuck was it?!  
  
How the fuck do I deal with this shit?! FUCK, Holden, you can't drop shit like this at my feet and just leave me!  
  
Speaking of, by the way, why the fuck isn't he banging on my door yet? Why the fuck isn't he asking me if I'm okay with this shit? Why isn't he barging in, demanding that I talk to him? He's always had the uncanny ability to read my emotions. He's always been able to tell when he's stepped over the line. Always known when I was lying, especially about how I felt about something. And yet now, when it matters the most, he's done nothing to check on me. Yet, I wonder, am I furious at him for that, or grateful? Cause this is too confusing right now, I don't know if I can handle him being in my face while I figure out what this throbbing in my gut is trying to tell me.  
  
I swear to God, if he's gone after that bitch, I will never forgive him.  
  
I said sure? He asked me to fuck him and Alyssa, together, the three of us, and I'd said sure? Why did I do that? How did that word come out of my mouth? Where the flying fuck did it come from? What did that mean? Sure, I'll fuck you cause I love you? Sure, I'll fuck you cause I want to have a threesome? Sure, I'll fuck you cause it will make you happy? Sure, I'll turn my entire life into a complete fucking phantasmagoria where up is down, black is white, and I'm gay?!  
  
***"Fools" said I, "You do not know Silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you, Take my arms that I might reach you." But my words like silent raindrops fell, And echoed In the wells of silence ***  
  
There he is, finally. Banging on my door. It started as a knock, but the longer I didn't answer the more fervent it got. His voice is raising, and I can hear the tears in his voice. I can picture him, his pitiful face, fallen, broken. The tears running down his face. His eyes tortured, plagued by the gravity of what he's just done to himself. To Alyssa. To us.  
  
Serves you right, you self-righteous fuck!  
  
I'm relieved that he still cares for me enough to come after me. I'm relieved that he hasn't somehow forgotten what we've meant to each other, just pushed me aside solely for her. That relief doesn't change the fact that I'm fucking angry as piss at him right now though. It doesn't excuse what he did. It doesn't change the fact that I feel like I'm going to fucking break into a million pieces the second I look at him.  
  
It does however answer a few questions for me. It does make me realize something I'd never questioned before. It does make it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that the love I've felt for him over the years hasn't been 100% purely about friendship. Cause hearing his voice right now, knowing that he's upset, knowing that he's crying, is breaking me. It's tearing me in two, sitting here in front of my bed. Half of me wanting to get up and open the door, let him in, hug him, hold him close. Wanting him to not cry, to not feel pain. To take the pain away, wipe away the tears. The other half of me wanting to run the fuck away. Get the fuck out of dodge. Run away from the reality of what's just occurred to me.  
  
Cause this makes it worse. It makes it colder, what he did. Cause he thought I loved him and he was willing to use me to get Alyssa back. As a friend, I maybe could accept that. Sure, it hurt, and sure it wasn't very decent of him to do to me, but as a friend I could maybe get that. Understand his motives were brought on by temporary insanity and stupidity. But this pain, this stabbing fucking aching pain in my heart is something I know will not leave me soon.  
  
Here they are. I knew they were coming, and nothing I could do would stop them. I felt them building the second he started calling to me. They're spilling over now, and I wish to God they wouldn't start cause I knew it was going to be hard as fuck to get rid of them. No way in hell was I going to let Holden see them. I don't cry often, never have. Hardly as a child, rarely as a teen, and almost never as an adult. Now my tears were reserved for the too horrible to not cry things. Things like death. Things like finding out my mother had cancer. Things like, apparently, realizing I was in love with my best friend, unbeknownst even to my own self.  
  
***And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, In the words that it was forming. And the sign said, ***  
  
Why? Why him? Why me? Why now? How did I not know? How long has he known? How long have I felt this way? Has it been since we met? Has it been since Alyssa? Have I always loved him? Is he my soul mate? I'd always thought of him as my hetero-lifemate, a term Jay had coined and I had shamelessly stolen. I always thought we'd always exist in one another's worlds, no matter what. No matter when he got married, no matter if he had kids, no matter where we were in our lives. That we would always be a we, and nothing would ever change that. Have I been living in some fucking deluded alternate reality? How can someone love someone and not fucking know it?!  
  
How did I not figure it out? I've never truly liked a partner of his. I've always talked shit about them, to his face and behind his back. Hooper's called me a "catty bitch" for that reason alone so many times I can't even count them. When he would fuck them, in his room, and I'd lay here on my bed, I'd feel the loneliness sink in. I'd always chalked it up to me not being the one fucking anyone, but was that what it was? Was it more to do with him than it did to me being without someone?  
  
Cause it's not like I never got laid, it's not like it was hard for me. There's easy bitches all around Jersey. All I had to do was walk up to them, smile, and try not to curse too much and let out too many vulgar innuendos and it was as simple as that. But I'd never tried that hard. I'd lie in my bed at night, hearing him go to town, hear him grunt, hear her moan his name, and get that sinking feeling in my heart. Fuck, how did I not realize this sooner?!  
  
There were even nights when we came together, me and him. I don't know how I let myself think that was okay for me to do. It would happen every once in a while, just hearing him moaning, grunting, panting through the paper thin walls separating our rooms would get me hard. I guess I thought that sex was sex, and those sounds meant pleasure, so it was only natural for me to get a hard on. I'd let my hand wander down there, begin to stroke myself. If I close my eyes now I can still remember. Still hear him panting, still feel my stroke pace increasing as the tempo of his grunts did. Until now I never realized I was listening to him, ignoring, blocking out the female counterpart. Listening to him moan, to his pleasure, deriving my own from his. And then, in the aftermath, feeling the shame wash over me. I'd always thought the shame came with being Catholic, seeing as how masturbation is a sin in Catholicism. Maybe it came with the impure thoughts of Holden I'd been having in my subconscious. Isn't it funny how the subconscious can fool your conscious for so long? And then, when it comes out, tell you "I tried to tell you so!"  
  
What the fuck am I going to do now? How the fuck do I ever face him again?  
  
Suddenly I'm up and frantically searching for something I can't name. I'm looking around, my heart is pounding, and my head is ready to explode. I have to find whatever it is I'm looking for, and fast, or I'm going to have an embolism. I run towards my closet, falling to my knees, digging, digging. As my hand closes around my suitcase I finally realize I have what I'm looking for. Of course I'm leaving, it's the only way. The only way I can come to terms, the only way I can deal. The only way to wrap my head around the huge mess that that I've become in the past couple of hours without having to face him.  
  
I'm packing my shit, and getting myself the fuck out of dodge. Out of this apartment, out of this neighborhood, maybe even so far as out of Jersey as a whole. I don't know if I'll come back, I don't know if I'll be able to. I'm packing my shit, and damn the consequences of his actions. Damn Holden for making me do this. Damn him for making me realize this. I was perfectly happy being the blissfully ignorant misguided simple fool that I was three hours ago.  
  
I'm blasting the fuck out of this god forsaken hole he's created for us, and God willing I'm not ever looking back.  
  
***"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls And tenement halls." And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.***  
  
***Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel 


End file.
